


Halfway To Heaven (and Just a Mile Out of Hell)

by brynnmck, sdwolfpup



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/F, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: The AU FNL Prison Break Fic That Is Not Really A Fic But More Of A Campfire Tale For Your Enjoyment! In which Tyra and Lyla team up to break Tim out of jail, and feelings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway To Heaven (and Just a Mile Out of Hell)

**Author's Note:**

> SD Wolfpup and I started idly talking in email about an FNL prison break, and somehow woke up a few days later with 5000+ words of AU not!fic (that is also remarkably fic-like at many points). Mostly Tyra/Lyla, though /Tim snuck in there a bit. We strongly recommend that you approach this with copious amounts of both insulin and handwavium, a liberal attitude toward POV shifts, and the full disclosure that we pretty much skipped over the actual prison break and went straight for the feelings. Speaking of feelings: title stolen from Bruce Springsteen's "Better Days."

**SDW:** I recall [Tim] having a much-reduced role for the first 4-5 episodes, yeah. I mean, he's in jail. Not all that much to do with him, I guess. (Unless he concocts a PRISON BREAK.)

 **Brynn:** LOLOLOLOLOLOL. WOULD WATCH. OMG I feel like that would be the failiest prison break of all time, assisted by Billy and possibly Jason. Though if Lyla were involved, that shit would go DOWN. I bet Lyla would be AWESOME at prison breaks.

 **SDW:** YES. And she could get Tyra involved and then they would be UNSTOPPABLE. 

**Brynn:** YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. I feel like Lyla would have, like, BINDERS and SYNCHRONIZED WATCHES, and if they got in a bind, Tyra would be equally likely to knock a guard unconscious with a nearby heavy object or flash her boobs at him to distract him. THIS IS SUCH A GOOD PRISON BREAK IN MY HEAD.

 **SDW:** But if Billy and Tim (and possibly Jason) tried to arrange it...lordy. 

**Brynn:** They would probably all end up handcuffed together somehow.

_[And then we talked about something else for a bit, and then I was having a bad day, so in an attempt to cheer me up, SDW suggested we come back to:]_

**Brynn:** The Billy/Tim breakout would involve a LOT of over-loud shushing, for sure. Tim would probably give the sex eyes to someone at some point, because: Tim.

 **SDW:** SomeONE?

 **Brynn:** Maybe Billy has to call in the big Tyra/Lyla guns AFTER his first attempt to break Tim out FAILS MISERABLY?

 **SDW:** Oh CLEARLY. He calls them from jail, with his one call. No, wait, he calls Mindy and MINDY calls Tyra and Tyra calls Lyla and they bitch over the phone and consider just leaving them there but Lyla's been to the prison, she has an image of it in her head and she knows it would be easy to bust them out. And little Hannibal (at least it wasn't Nemo, she thinks) shouldn't go so long without his daddy, and Tim Riggins could use some luck so what the hell anyway. Not like she can't get it done and get back for midterms on Monday. 

When she finds out what their plan was—they actually thought the "hiding in the laundry" trick would still work—she reconsiders leaving them there as penance.

 **Brynn:** LOLOLOLOLOL YES. And Tyra would like to say she's surprised that she and Garrity could work together on this, but the fact is, they made a bunch of football players do a strip tease in front of the whole school, so breaking two dumbasses out of jail is gonna be CAKE compared to that. (She's also a lot happier to see Lyla than she expected to be. College looks good on her. Even her ponytail doesn't piss Tyra off the way it used to.)

So Tyra makes some tea for Mindy—who's FREAKING OUT—while Lyla makes a quick sketch of the prison and starts making notes. This Becky girl—who Mindy describes as "a stray Tim picked up, well, not picked-up, picked up, but they're friends," and Tyra wants THAT story, Tim Riggins being friends with a pretty girl—is watching everything Lyla does with avid eyes and a determination that Tyra respects but has to shut down, because there is no way she and Garrity are contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Lyla obviously agrees, because she puts her hand on Becky's and tells her that they appreciate the help, and she knows Tim does too, but she and Tyra have got this. The look she gives Tyra on that last part makes Tyra grin before she can help it.

AND ALSO. AFTER the (non-angstiest, most consequence-free) prison break (in the world, la la la), they all end up back at Billy and Mindy's house. Billy and Mindy and Lyla have an epic Mario Kart rematch—whisper-screaming so they don't wake the baby, though Lyla's victory dance is so impressive that Mindy has to high-five her, which almost does the job anyway—while Becky referees Tim and Tyra playing quarters, and keeps an ear out for the baby monitor.

 **SDW:** And possibly after Mindy and Billy have gone to bed, and Becky is tucked away, and Tim is passed out on the couch, Tyra and Lyla—drunk, yes, but pleasantly so—sit a little too close together on the floor. And Lyla bumps her knee into Tyra's and tells her how she couldn't have done it without her, and Tyra bites her lip, more appreciative of the comment than she should be. It's the lip-biting that does it, because then Lyla is moving her hand over to Tyra's knee, and leaning a little closer and Tyra thinks 'well why the hell not?' and meets her lips halfway.

 **Some combination of SDW and Brynn and you will never know which, muahahahaha:** So this is it. Three days ago, Tyra had been planning to spend her weekend in the library, with maybe a margarita break if she got through the first couple of pages of her Business Ethics paper. Instead, she's found herself breaking two idiots out of prison—though she has to admit she liked the adrenaline rush, and she's pretty damn proud of that thing with the stapler and Billy's old Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt—and now she's kissing Lyla Garrity.

If she'd thought about it back in her Dillon days, she'd have expected Lyla to taste like cotton candy or something, all sweet and soft with just a little spark when the sugar pops against your tongue. And there’s some of that, more spark than sweet, but mostly, she tastes like beer—like Tim's brand of beer, actually, which at one time would have pissed Tyra off, but now it's just kind of funny, like running into an old friend in an unfamiliar city. Lyla seems like she's got a bit of an adrenaline buzz going, too; she goes from tentative to hungry in no time flat, tongue slick and hot and eager, teeth catching Tyra's bottom lip and tugging. It's a hell of a kiss, honestly, and from the small sounds Lyla's making, Tyra's not doing so bad herself. Her heart is starting to dance in her chest, and she's getting that edge-of-the-cliff feeling that tends to go with first kisses and college applications, and then Tim breaks out snoring like a freight train and Lyla and Tyra both jump a mile and end up having to cover shrieks and then hysterical giggles with their hands.

By the time they get their breath back, Tim has snorted and rolled over and buried his face in the couch cushion, but it's enough to remind Tyra that they're extremely not-alone in this house. It's Lyla's turn to bite her lip, and to look up at Tyra from underneath her eyelashes with that half-shy, half-delighted look that Tyra's watched from the sidelines dozens of times. It's kind of something, being in the crosshairs of it, and Tyra tucks her tongue into her cheek and and grins back. She can see the reflection of her own lipgloss on Lyla's mouth.

"Well, anyway," Lyla whispers, "thanks."

Tyra winks at her. "You too, Garrity."

The bedrooms are full up and then some, so they gather up the blankets and pillows that Mindy had brought out to them earlier (muttering the whole time about running a damn boarding house, though she'd given Tyra a hard hug immediately afterward). And if after they get settled, Tyra's hand sneaks out and finds Lyla's there to meet her, well, they just pulled off a damn jailbreak, she guesses that makes them friends for real now.

Of course, it kinda seems less clear-cut when they wake up in the morning and see Tim watching them—watching their entwined fingers, specifically—with a grin that's somehow managing to be genuinely sweet, down-and-dirty sinful, and chock-full of the barely-repressed mischief that means they are never, ever going to hear the end of this.

"Well, good mornin', ladies," he drawls, all rough voice and raised eyebrows and tousled hair. All it takes Tyra is one quick look at Lyla before she mutters, "Yep," and they both attack Tim with pillows.

The combined force of the pillows and their two bodies manage to catch Tim off-guard enough that they crash back into the couch in a pile. Tim's breath releases in a huff but his arms come up tight around both of them, crushing them to his sides and making them squeal with surprise. Tyra's hands end up against the solid, hot wall of Tim's chest, and Lyla finds her legs straddling one of his, warm and thick between hers, and all of a sudden they all seem to realize what's actually happening and they go quiet. There's a lot of heavy breathing, interrupted with a whispered yell of, "Ew, God y'all, there are _children_ in this house!"

Tyra and Lyla crane their necks around to see Mindy standing there, hunched over and hands wrapped around her face like she's trying to keep her brains from spilling out. Which, now that Tyra thinks about it, is a pretty good summary of how she feels, too, with the pillow-fight adrenaline rush fading away.

"Sorry, Minds," says Tim, not releasing his grip at all. "Just havin' a pillow fight. Ain't that what happens at all the girl slumber parties?"

Mindy makes a kind of groaning noise that manages to sound both disgusted and resigned, and she stumbles around the counter. "I'm gettin' coffee and then me and the _girls_ are going to get donuts."

"Great. Get me one of those twisty chocolate ones, will ya? And a cream-filled." Tyra rolls her eyes and shoves at him, but she's forgotten how strong Tim is, even now. She wonders if he lifted weights in jail, fulfilling some sort of prison cliche quotient. He winks at her and his hand slides down to her ass. She pinches his nipple and he gasps and lets both of them go. 

"Not very neighborly of you," he mutters, rubbing his chest. Tyra grins at Lyla, before standing up and realizing, yep, the comfortable distance from her hangover is completely gone. From the looks of Lyla's grimace, she's feeling the same.

"Aspirin's on the top shelf by the sink," Tim offers, keeping his voice mercifully low. Tyra starts for the kitchen, but Tim grabs her hand before she can get more than a couple of inches. "Hey," he says. "Thanks. And you too, Lyla." He looks back and forth between them for a second, eyes sleepy but serious. "I won't forget this."

In her lifetime, Tyra's been on the receiving end of enough Tim's pretty-sounding bullshit to fertilize half of Texas. But she always knew it for what it was, even if she didn't think she deserved better from anybody. Now when she narrows her eyes and looks closer, it hits her that apparently a prison record isn't the only thing that Tim's picked up in the past year or two. She puffs out a breath. "Well, hell. You really mean it, don't you?"

Tim squeezes her fingers and holds her gaze. "Hundred percent." 

Lyla leans down and plants a quick, soft kiss on his mouth. "Welcome home, Tim."

Down the hall, there's the sound of a door opening. They all get about one-point-five seconds to register the rapid-fire thuds along the floor before Skeeter is launching himself onto the couch and covering Tim's face with enthusiastic dog kisses. Lyla's reflexes are obviously still pickled enough that she gets some collateral damage before she manages to stumble back, laughing and wiping the side of her face, and, wonder of wonders, falling right into Tyra. Tyra braces her feet and catches her easily—tiny thing, though there's still cheerleader muscle under those cheerleader curves—and then as long as she's got her hands on Lyla's waist anyway, and something about the smell of Lyla's hair seems to be helping her headache, it seems like the natural thing to do to rest her chin on Lyla's shoulder and watch the show.

"He just saw him last night," Lyla whispers, shaking her head.

"Dog memories," Becky volunteers as she appears next to them. Her curls are going eighteen million directions (Tyra sympathizes, and thinks how her momma would be so proud that Tyra took the time to straighten her own hair before rescuing her ex-boyfriend and brother-in-law from prison), and she's wearing an East Dillon Lions t-shirt, sweatpants, and a wide, fond grin.

"Y'all don't understand a man and his dog," Tim says with as much dignity as Tyra supposes it's possible for a person to muster when he's being mauled by a twenty-pound bundle of fur and slobber. "He just missed me. Didn't you, Skeet-man? Huh? You missed me, didn't you? Yes you did." He manages to get one hand free to rub the top of Skeeter's head, which puts him into a whole new level of ecstasy that can apparently only be expressed by knocking three beer bottles off the coffee table with his tail. A few stuttering cries, then a full-on wail comes out of the baby monitor. 

In the kitchen, Mindy braces her hands on the counter and drops her head to her chest. "Tim Riggins, I swear to God..."

"I got it, Minds," Tim says, trying to fight Skeeter off and stand up at the same time, all while looking like his legs aren't quite attached right.

Becky snickers. "Nice form, Thirty-Three."

"Man. And his _dog_ ," Tim repeats emphatically. He struggles upright, with Skeeter still hopping around his shins like he's on springs. Another wail comes out of the monitor, and all of them wince, except Becky, who's clearly enjoying their hangovers way too much. Tyra considers hating her, but then Lyla rests her head back against Tyra's shoulder and she kind of forgets to be mad.

"Becks," Tim mutters, eyes squeezed almost shut as he makes for the doorway. "Twenty bucks if you bring me some aspirin."

"You don't have any money," Becky points out cheerfully, but she heads for the kitchen anyway. Skeeter abandons Tim and follows her instead, poking at a particular cabinet that Tyra guesses must have treats in it.

"Twenty bucks! You know I'm good for it!" Tim calls back from the hallway. A few seconds later, his voice comes out of the baby monitor, soft and soothing between the baby's yells. "Heyyyy, Stevie. Hey, little man. We need to talk about morning quiet time, buddy."

"I tried," comes Billy's tired voice. "He's not getting the memo."

"Well, maybe he just needs his Uncle Tim to explain it to him," Tim says, sing-song in the way that Tyra's caught herself doing a dozen times already. Must be some magic baby power or something.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what he needs," Billy answers.

"Can you spell hangover, Stevie? Huh? Can you?"

"He's a year old, he can't spell anything, dumbass." Even through the monitor, the affection in Billy's voice is clear as day.

"Don't say dumbass in front of the kid, dumbass."

"He's my kid, I'll say what I want."

Quiet for a few seconds—the crying seems to have stopped—then. "He's a great kid, Billy. A _great_ kid. Man. He got so _big_."

"Yeah." More quiet. Stevie giggles. "He missed you, man. We all did."

When Tyra glances over, Becky's staring down at the counter with a half-smile on her face, her hand still wrapped around the open bottle of aspirin. Mindy's got tears in her eyes, and Tyra's heart kind of flips over in her chest. She gives Lyla a quick squeeze and crosses over to kiss Mindy on the cheek.

"C'mon," she says, because either they get the hell out now, or it's gonna get all Oprah in here, and Tyra can't handle a crying jag headache on top of her hangover headache. "Let's let the boys get reacquainted. You promised donuts."

* * * * *

Tami finds Tyra and Mindy staring listlessly at the Hostess selection in the convenience store, looking like they're leaning toward the cake donuts because the chocolate-covered ones might be too heavy to lift. Tyra lights right up when she sees Tami, though, and somehow it takes them about two minutes to get from hugging to confessions of semi-legal behavior. Which Tami knows she should disapprove of, but if Lyla managed to convince the guard—who saw what she did for that Santiago kid and has never forgotten it—to doctor Tim's record, well, he only had a couple of months left anyway, and Eric has been to see him a few times and he says it looks like Tim Riggins is finally growing up, and Tami's always been a big believer in second chances. So it's not long after that that Tami hears herself inviting them all to brunch, because she's lost her damn mind—she knows a little something about how much food growing boys can put away, but the Riggins brothers are on a whole other level, and they’ve got a football barbecue coming up soon. But the house has been awfully empty since Julie left, and it's so good to see Tyra again, see her looking so happy and settled in herself, and Tami wants to check in with Lyla and Becky, too, and get her hands on that baby, and Eric is going to want to have a talk with Tim and Billy, so. Brunch it is, apparently.

But she doesn't tell Eric about the breakout. The women make an agreement to just tell him that circumstances worked out to release Tim early, and Eric—bless his dumb, trusting heart—just nods and kind of sighs in that way he has when she follows it up by asking him to run out and get more bacon, because Lord knows those Riggins boys aren't going to stop at just six pieces each. But when he comes back in and she looks up to see him in the doorway, he's got that half-smile he sometimes gets, watching them all around the table, loud as a herd of cattle called to dinner. That smile that warms her heart and reminds her why they're here, doing this, caring for these kids.

Eric’s eyes drift to hers, he nods and heads into the kitchen and she hears the rustle of the bag, the click-click-click of the pilot light, and gentle clang of the pan. And then: “Aw, c’mon y’all, no one made more coffee? Make a man head out to the store to feed your sorry faces—don’t think I don’t see those dark circles—and then not even make him coffee in gratitude?” 

“Be right there, hon,” Tami says, simultaneously rolling her eyes grandly for the table’s benefit. 

Lyla grins at the loose, teasing relationship between the Taylors. She remembers mornings like this a long time ago at her house, over a stream of pancakes cooked for an hour by her dad. She thinks she should probably stop by and see him while she’s here, although “just down to break Tim and Billy Riggins out of jail” is not the greatest excuse. 

She flicks her gaze over to Tyra, watches her and Tim shooting wry comments back and forth with the same ease and familiarity of the Taylors, and decides it’s just best to leave Dillon as soon as she can excuse herself from breakfast. She knows—she’s _thrilled_ —that Tyra is happy at college and heading back soon herself, but staying still feels like Lyla’s trying to fit into a family she doesn’t have a place with, dating history and unexpected late-night kisses or not. 

“Uh, Lyla?” 

Lyla blinks. “Oh, sorry Billy. What is it?” 

“Can you pass the syrup, please?”

“Yeah, you plannin’ on keepin’ it all for yourself there, Garrity?” Tim throws in, capping it off with a disarming smile. 

“Why Tim Riggins, don’t you know Miss Lyla Garrity is plum made of syrup?” Tyra says, without malice. 

His grin turns downright dirty. “I sure enough do, Tyra.” Lyla throws her napkin at him and then hands Billy the syrup. Yep, definitely time to get out of here as soon as she can.

She pastes on her best game-day smile, though, and there’s enough general chaos to keep Mrs. Taylor and her guidance-counselor instincts distracted. Lyla does get a raised eyebrow from Tim when she catches him looking at her over his third glass of orange juice, and that’s annoying and comforting and a little bit scary, that he still knows her well enough to see through the polish and shine. Fortunately he still knows not to push her, too, so he just stretches out one long leg underneath the table and nudges her foot without missing a beat of Coach’s play-by-play of Smash’s most recent game.

Tyra, though. Tyra’s not exactly the letting-things-go type, so Lyla’s got her hands full of sticky plates when Tyra corners her in the kitchen and demands, “What gives, Garrity? Looked like your pancakes got sour about halfway through, there.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “You’re not mad about that syrup crack, are you? I was just...” A pretty pink flush spreads over her cheeks. Lyla finds herself wondering how it would feel under her lips. “Just runnin’ my mouth, y’know. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She’s so tall, and there’s a wisp of hair curling just in front of her ear, and the unavoidable reality of her is turning Lyla’s palms clammy. Dark and drunk and midnight had been one thing, but this is the bright light of day, this is _Dillon_ , for God’s sake, and this is Tyra, who’d spent a hell of a long time hating Lyla and everything she represented. This can’t possibly be going anywhere. And Lyla hasn’t fought so hard to move forward just to get sucked into this town’s weird gravitational pull again.

She forces another smile. “It’s fine, Tyra. I just... I have to get going, is all. I’ve stayed too long already.”

Tyra pulls back, and Lyla tries to tell herself she appreciates the breathing room. “So that’s it. You’re just gonna leave? Just like that?”

“I have midterms.” Lyla turns to set the stack of plates on the counter so she doesn’t have to see the look on Tyra’s face.

“Midterms,” Tyra repeats. The word is so heavy with scorn and disbelief that Lyla half-expects to feel it thunk against her back. There’s a pause, and then, so quiet that Lyla can hardly catch it over the chatter in the living room, “Well, congratulations, Garrity—at least that’s one I’ve never heard before.”

“Tyra,” Lyla starts, spinning around, but Tyra’s already stalking away. She pauses barely long enough to grab Mrs. Taylor’s hand on her way by.

“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. T.” 

Mrs. Taylor blinks. “Tyra, what’s—?” But she’s too late; the screen door slams sharp and sudden, and everybody’s looking around at each other like the sky just turned green, and Tim’s half out of his chair, and Lyla pelts out the door without stopping to think about it.

“Tyra! Tyra, wait. I didn’t—”

Tyra whirls on her, eyes full of tears and fury. “Didn’t what? Didn’t think I’d mind if you took a ride on the town bicycle? Everybody else has done it, right, so why not you? I’m not your damn experimentation phase, Lyla.”

Lyla swallows hard, not least because she’s been where Tyra is. “It wasn’t—” She tries to catch Tyra’s arm, but Tyra yanks it away.

“Don’t you touch me.”

“It wasn’t like that, Tyra, I swear,” Lyla says desperately.

“What was it like, then? I’m just dying to know.” Tyra snaps.

“I... I don’t...” Lyla sputters. “I don’t know, okay? We were just... We had just done this crazy thing, and we did it well, you know? Really well. And it was amazing. But...” She throws her hands out to either side. “You don’t even _like_ me!”

Now it’s Tyra’s turn to blink, hands on her hips. “Now why in the hell would you say that?”

“Because you told me, constantly, for about half our lives?” Lyla points out, exasperated.

Tyra looks like she’s about to fire off a comeback, but she freezes in mid-breath, glances up toward the sky and wrinkles her nose instead. “I kinda did, didn’t I?”

“You really did.” Out of nowhere, Lyla can feel a laugh bubbling at the back of her throat.

“Not for the last few years,” Tyra goes on, her expression gradually shifting toward as close to sheepish as Lyla’s ever seen her. “In my defense.”

A giggle escapes. “Yeah, well. Declaring a truce for those terrifying Riggins-Collette family dinners isn’t exactly the same as actually wanting to hang out with me.”

“You know, those have only gotten mildly less terrifying,” Tyra muses. One of her feet slides out into the grass in front of her, and she drags the other one forward to meet it. 

“Mmm,” Lyla agrees. “They have their moments, though.” Tyra takes another slow, sliding step forward, and Lyla drops her head back and laughs. “What are we doing, Tyra?”

“Arguing. On the Taylors’ front lawn.” Tyra bites the corner of her lip and reaches out to poke Lyla’s hipbone. “Or maybe making up. What do you think?”

“I think I’m good with that,” Lyla says softly. She’d like to do some biting of Tyra’s lip, herself, but this is Dillon, so. “So how does this work?” she asks instead.

“How does what work? The girl thing? I assume you’re familiar with the general function of the hardware, but if we need to have The Talk...” Tyra offers, and they’re both laughing now. “I don’t know how this works. You’re the one with the binders and the blueprints, you tell me.”

Lyla shakes her head ruefully. “I don’t have a plan for this.”

Tyra claps a hand over her heart. “Well, Lyla Garrity without a plan, that is a first. But you’re in luck, because I’m gonna take up the slack, here. You comin’ back here for Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Lyla nods slowly, and answers Tyra’s grin with one of her own. “Yeah, I was planning to do that.”

“Good. So.” Tyra starts ticking points off on her fingers. “They have these newfangled devices called phones, and I’ve even heard tell of this electronic mail invention, though I’ve never tried it myself. We could see where that gets us, and then if we’re still speaking to each other, I’ll see you back here at Christmas? Or...” and she pauses, then rushes on, “Or I could even come check out your fancy school—I’ve never been to Nashville.”

Lyla takes a moment to imagine being out on the town in Nashville with Tyra; they might turn a few heads. She thinks she might be just about ready for some head-turning. “Well,” she says. “I’ve been pretty busy with school, so I haven’t had a chance to get out much since the summer. Could be fun to show somebody else the sights.”

Tyra’s smile is as bright and open as the Texas sky. “See? Plan. Easy as pie, just add water.”

“Easy,” Lyla agrees, shaking her head again, and a tiny lick of hope is starting to burn in her heart that says maybe it can be. “Now will you come back inside, please?”

“I thought you were burnin’ daylight?” Tyra asks teasingly. “Big midterm and all? Fate of the world hanging in the balance?”

“I think I can stick around for a little longer,” Lyla says. Pulse hammering, she slips her fingers down the length of Tyra’s before linking them together. “Just since there’s a plan.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tyra says, smug and (Lyla hopes) a little breathless. 

When Lyla turns, she sees Tim leaning against the Taylors’ doorframe, trying to look like he’s just enjoying the fresh air instead of spying on them like the dog he is.

“Kind of a shame we can’t give that boy a show,” Tyra mutters through a wide, toothy grin. “Bet his eyes would pop right out of his head.”

Lyla laughs low. “I bet you’re right. Stratton sisters, my ass.” As they get to the porch, Tim swings the door open.

“Ladies.”

“Jackass,” Tyra greets him cheerfully, and Tim snorts a laugh. Tyra goes to reassure Mrs. Taylor, who’s got her concerned counselor face on; Tim catches Lyla’s arm.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Lyla smiles. “Yeah, everything’s good. I was just...” She hesitates, but it’s Tim—he’s seen her at every rock bottom she’s ever had, and he’s never loved her even a tiny bit less for it. “I was just feeling a little out of place, is all,” she admits.

“I hear ya,” Tim says quietly. His eyes go soft and distant. “It’s weird, being back here, after being in there. It looks the same, but...”

“It feels different,” Lyla finishes for him.

“Yeah.” 

Lyla shakes her head, disbelieving. “I couldn’t wait to get out of here,” she says. “And now that I have, all I can seem to think about are the things I left behind.”

Tim’s gaze snaps back into focus on her. “Here’s one thing I found out, Garrity, while I was locked up by myself: Leaving a place is easy. But leaving the people in it? I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be hard. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if it is, that’s a sign that you’re doing something right.”

Lyla tilts her head and squints up at him. “And when did you get so smart about this stuff?”

He just shrugs. “Prison wisdom,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Standard issue with the jumpsuit. Man, don’t you ever watch movies?”

“Ahhh, I see,” Lyla says on a laugh. “Apparently there are some holes in my education after all.” When Tim hooks one arm around her shoulders, she lets him pull her in; he’s as solid and warm as ever, and there’s the familiar imprint of a Panthers t-shirt under her cheek. She relaxes against his chest while she takes in the scene: Coach Taylor and Billy hunched over the TV, game tape cued up; Gracie Belle babbling to Stevie about one of his trucks while Mindy and Becky look on, smiling; Tyra still chatting with Mrs. Taylor, but her eyes continually drifting toward Lyla and Tim with curiosity, warmth, and a glint of something that Lyla would dearly love to investigate further.

Tim kisses the top of her head. “Family ain’t just about blood, Garrity,” he murmurs. Lyla’s heard it before, of course. But up until right now, in this room, she’s not sure she’s ever quite believed it.


End file.
